One year
by kouw
Summary: Series of drabbles, having one thing in common: a measure of time. All drabbles stand alone (if not, it will be in the author's note). Angst, romance, fluff. Ratings K thru M. (on temporary hiatus)
1. worst case scenario

It's been a year since we've buried you.

You must have known how much I cared for you, I knew exactly where we stood, what we had together. Though except for me missing you, in my own way, everything is much the same here. Perhaps some small things are different, but it's hardly been a year, Charles, you cannot expect great life altering changes.

There's still the dressing gong being rung at six, there's still grapes from the greenhouses, his Lordship still walks Isis in the afternoon. But they've replaced the curtains in our rooms, I'm afraid. The house runs almost smoothly without you. The 'Times' comes in the morning, Mr Bates irons it. Jimmy's gone to Lady Anstruther's. Daisy to the farm. Lady Mary has her suitors. But while I think of all this normalcy, there's gaping holes where you used to be. The fact the silver isn't as shiny as it used to be speaks volumes.

Charles, I keep thinking of what you said: "We shout and scream and wail and cry, but in the end we must all die". That life is a circle, renewing all the time. But it's not true, because only you were you, your footsteps will never be filled. When I see your pantry, you should be in there and I miss you by my side at the table.

Life goes on and a year apart is long, too long, much too long. Still there is nothing much to report. Old Lady Grantham still disapproves of nearly everything, Tom is still uneasy, Lady Edith even more so. And Anna's told me there's a baby on the way. Which is wonderful news.

Really.

* * *

Elsie crumpled up the letter with shaking hands and threw it in the wastepaper bin. She got up, smoothed her skirt and left her room.

She had work to do.

* * *

**A/N: **Based on 'Kees', by Michel van der Plas


	2. planning ahead

They are speaking of their day whilst sipping sherry, nibbling on leftover biscuits (there is really no such thing as 'leftover biscuits', it's something they tell themselves, it's one of their few indulgences). Their routine of many years is speckled with talk of the future. Of a cottage on the outskirts of the estate and sleeping in. She blushes prettily - like she does whenever the more physical side of their arrangements come up - and he clears his throat. They look at each other, flashes of longing and quiet embarrassment.

In the dim light of her parlour they try to speak frankly; she is not one for holding back, he is not the kind of man to let sleeping dogs lie, but it's not easy. Their conversation is laced with difficult swallowing and searching for the right words. She has never admitted the low rumble of his voice stirs her, he has never confessed he sees her in his dreams. He loves her, of that she is certain, he never doubts her love for him.

He worries about the practical side of things: he has calculated the cost of living, has made an inventory of the things he will bring with him to their new home (it's not much, their rooms are small, servants' possessions as a rule are few). She wonders about the physical side of things: which side of the bed will he prefer and it's been so long since she's had any kind of physical intimacy, the thought of this tall, broad man cradled between her legs is slightly disconcerting.

He empties his glass when she does and they both reach for the last biscuit. He picks it up and breaks it in half. It's these things that make her think it will all be alright. She has lived within the walls of Downton, devoting herself to her work. Now the time will come she will share her life with him. He is a bit intimidated he will be living his life alongside this strong, beautiful woman. But it will be a privilege. They will be happy. After all: they can afford to live a little.


	3. things that go bump in the night

Phyllis Baxter has been at Downton Abbey for one year when she is shaken up in the middle of the night by the sound of a heavy thud, followed by a chuckle. She hears the echo of a slap and a high pitched gasp. There's mumbling and the sound of someone scrambling up from the floor and the creaking of a bed. Shuffling of blankets and the unmistakable noise of people kissing.

"Naughty!"

The word enters her room as clear as crystal. Phyllis remembers nights filled with solitude, sometimes sliced in half by the sounds of the same shuffling and swatting, sounds of kissing and low moans turning into groans, the creaking of the bed, her mother panting, her father gasping. She used to push her pillow against her ears, curl up under the covers, humming lowly under her breath to have something else fill her ears.

She has been happy here at Downton, even with the constant threat of Thomas hovering over her. Mr Molesley is standing up for her, there's the quiet companionship of Anna, the kindnesses from Mrs Hughes and the obvious praise of Lady Grantham: it all adds to her feeling at home and it's been so long since she has felt right with the world.

"Oh God..." The words are uttered in a wave of ecstasy, Phyllis recognises it but has not experienced it in years. She has learned her lesson. The sounds cease. She has located them coming from the room across the hall. The Housekeeper's room, the only one she has never seen the interior of. The muffled voice is definitely the Butler's.

While the noise dies (the door has opened, there was another kiss, whispered 'I love yous', the sound of the lock of the dividing door) she tosses and turns, unable to fall asleep again. Phyllis doesn't begrudge the pair their joy, but she feels trapped in their secret, an unwilling witness.

At breakfast the pair doesn't behave out of the ordinary, though she notices a look of pain flashing over Mr Carson's face as he sits down, a tiny little smirk quirking the corner of Mrs Hughes' mouth. Lady Grantham's' bell rings early and Phyllis makes her way up to her mistress room. Lady Grantham sips from her orange juice while Phyllis draws the curtains.

"Are you alright, Baxter? You look a bit drawn."

"I'm fine, Milady, I've just had a bit of a rough night."

"Not ill, I hope." Phyllis detects genuine concern in her mistress' voice.

Phyllis sighs. "Things that go bump in the night." She blushes, she can feel the heat spreading over her face.

"Bump in the night?" Cora repeats rather dully.

"It's of no consequence Milady."

"It is if it keeps you up, I need you bright and strong, Baxter."

"I'm sure it's not a regular occurrence, Milady."

"What isn't?"

"The sounds."

"Honestly Baxter, you do vex me. What sounds?"

Phyllis clears her throat, her blush still firmly in place, her voice failing as she stammers: "The sounds of two people together…"

"Oh. Yes." Lady Grantham is all business. "Really, they should move to a cottage, especially if they are going to be loud."

And this was how Phyllis Baxter was the last one to find out about the relationship between the butler and housekeeper of Downton Abbey.

* * *

**A/N:** A bit longer than the previous two and a rather abrupt ending, for which I am truly sorry - but it's for a reason! Please do not hesitate to review, honestly, reviews make me so happy.


	4. falling

He's been a footman for a long while when he's promoted. He works alongside Mrs Beckett and she hires a beautiful, feisty, ridiculously sensible headhousemaid to train to follow in her footsteps and it's horrible but true:

he who has never looked at a woman after the whole ordeal with Alice Neal, falls head over heels with a Scottish maid who is having none of anyone's lip and is as practical as she is pretty.

Of course he keeps it from her. It's of no use:

He has nothing to offer her and he is afraid of repeating the past. He sees her blossom under Mrs Beckett's careful guidance. He sees how she notices every little thing. He knows she is already a favourite of the young Lady Grantham and of the two youngest girls. Mary (he almost thinks of her as _his_) however won't be swayed, it's as if the girl sees something of herself in the almost unapproachable housemaid.

Then Mrs Beckett leaves and Elsie puts away her aprons and caps and transforms into Mrs Hughes, running a staff of at least thirty girls at the bright young age of thirty-five. He admires her. She is gorgeous in her new dresses. She is young still and he is not much older, but his fear - and anger at the past - grows.

He loves her. He loves her and it's of no use. He often finds himself staring at her, asking her advice, relying heavily on her.

And he does not know what to do about it.

* * *

**A/N:** I did it! I managed to keep under the 300 word limit! (of course reviews are limitless ;) )


	5. touch

She adores the way he runs his hand up her side, her body reacting at its own accord. His other hand cupping her face, his lips soft on hers. It's been a year, two, ten, more, but she never regrets opening her door and herself to him. He loves her, she loves him, she fits exactly against his lines, her curves accommodating him. She adores him; not his inflexible traditions, not his rigid routines, but his chest hair between her fingers, his weight on top of her. The moments he shares his emotions with her, the sparing jokes he makes (he makes her laugh, she warms under his words of care). She loves him settling over her, widening her thighs slowly, his caress always tender.

She loves him - she loves him - and she arches her back, presses her breasts against his chest, licks his shoulder - he is so much taller, she cannot kiss his face, but she can touch it and she opens her eyes, looking straight into his, filled with love and kindness and lust and she shudders, unable to breathe for a moment, seeing stars and keeping her long moan as quiet as she can.

He pulls out, still hard, moist with her slickness and she reaches for him, stroking him up and down, slowly, speeding up until he comes over her stomach. She is sure he no longer needs to, but old habits die hard - he is a proverbial old dog and they've done it like this for so very long. He cleans her up quicky and she opens her arms. He falls asleep upon her chest and she glances at the calendar - only 24 weeks now. Twenty-four weeks before a double bed and sleeping in.

She sighs contentedly.

* * *

**A/N: **300 words exactly, according to my wordprocessor. BOOM.


	6. future song

_Pregnant._ She closes her eyes, tears pricking against the lids, then softly rolling over her cheeks, wet and hot. They've only been gone a year and now this. She doesn't know what to say, what to think, feels overwhelmed by the word that leaves nothing to the imagination.

She loves children, always has. She has a knack for caring. Infants, toddlers, big strapping lads, giggling young maids of only fifteen - she's always handled their needs perfectly. Joyfully even.

She keeps her eyes closed and a hand wraps around hers.

"I understand." The words are plainly spoken, emotion scratching the edges of the phrase. She nods, swallows a few times.

She squeezes the small hand that's holding hers. "I've wanted this for you." She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm so happy for you."

Her voice is cracked, but her heart is singing.

* * *

**A/N:** 150 words. Blammo!


	7. direction

**A/N:** Baxter is back! Guys, I love Baxter, I cannot wait to see more of her the coming series.

* * *

She is surprised she didn't see it before, but time has passed since the thud and giggle in the night and she's learned the love between the housekeeper and butler is the worst kept secret of Downton Abbey. There are no ghosts in the attics, few scandals - from before the war, foreign diplomats dying in their beds or some such, Lady Edith's little surprise, but she's found her way through, the news never reached further than the font of Downton's parish church - and there are no rumours. There's only this one thing everyone is aware of and keeps their eyes closed to.

Is this why it's such a different household? Besides servants put up in a cottage, the mixed balls at Christmas? Besides being called into the Housekeeper's parlour for a talk over tea and biscuits about Mr Molesley's intentions and the heartfelt warning 'to be careful'?

Phyllis knows that if she were to tell her dark secret to the housekeeper, it would be safe, but the housekeeper is burdened by many a secret already besides the obvious one hidden in plain sight. Though perhaps they don't mean keep it a secret at all. The way Mrs Hughes pushes Mr Carson out of the room, the way he tuts at her, the looks of understanding during dinner, their bickering. Sometimes it looks like they are flirting: naughty words spoken by Mrs Hughes, Mr Carson's dry comebacks.

Phyllis is suddenly reminded of that day when they all went to the beach and she saw them holding hands whilst standing in the water. They looked so happy then and she wonders:

Maybe she can model her future after the example set by the Housekeeper. Perhaps this can be the way for Joseph and her.


	8. first anniversary

AU WARNING 'The Carsons' universe

* * *

_Their first anniversary_

Her dresses have been laid out, she contemplates chucking her corset every day, her belly is expanding at an alarming rate. How does a wife entice her husband when she is six months pregnant?

Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks. She sits bent over her desk, a pen in hand, ledger at an angle and a tear smudges the ink.

The door opens, but it's not his familiar footfall behind her, so she quickly pulls her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabs at her eyes before turning around and finding Beryl standing there with a tray of tea and biscuits.

The sight pushes her over an invisible edge and Elsie weeps, startling Beryl, who puts down the tray and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"What's all this?"

"Nothing." Elsie replies.

"It's obviously not nothing if you are crying so much the windows are misting up." Beryl says practically.

"I'm unsightly." Elsie mumbles.

"Hardly that, my dear." Beryl even chuckles. "He still thinks you are the most beautiful woman on God's good Earth."

"How do you know?" Elsie asks through her tears.

"Because I see the way he looks at you."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you, Hogwarts Duo, for letting me play in your sandbox. (PS 200 words! KABLAM!)


	9. recovery

She lies in bed, recovering from one of her sick headaches. They don't come as often as they used to, always announcing particularly brutal menses. It's been a year since the last one. She is fifty-three, it's high time she's rid of them. She wonders if her staff ever noticed the pattern - if you can speak of one by now.

Anna and Daisy have been up with a cup of tea and some sympathetic words. Elsie is getting rather hungry, but she doesn't trust herself to go down the steep and narrow stairs. Her legs are wobbly, her head still swimming. She'll have to wait it out.

Just as she is falling asleep again, she hears his footsteps outside her door and a quiet knock. She calls him in quickly, not wanting him to be caught on the wrong side of the dividing door. He stands in the door opening with a plate. She smells toast and her stomach rumbles. She bites her lip and he smiles.

"I thought you might be hungry."

"You know me well." She responds with a smile. He sets the plate down on her nightstand and she picks up the triangle of toast. She nibbles carefully, knowing she shouldn't be taking too big a bite.

"How are you?" He asks as he sits down next to her on the bed.

"Recovering." He nods.

They sit together quietly.

"I wish I could help you." He says then and leans against him.

"I know. There is nothing to be done. Time will heal."

"I'll miss you the coming week."

"Why, Charles, I'll be down again tomorrow morning!"

"That's not what I meant." His cheeks colour slightly and she cannot help but smile.

"I know. I'll miss you too." She has finished her toast. She is tired. He notices and makes to leave.

"Don't go." She grabs hold of his sleeve, preventing him from standing up. She kisses him.

"It won't be a week." She promises.

* * *

**A/N:** Much too intimate for the 1920s - men had no bloody _clue_ (do you all remember Dr Clarkson telling Robert 'things had become irregular' when Cora fell pregnant?). Still - made for fun writing ;)


	10. coming home

**The Carsons Universe**

_their first anniversary (2) : Coming Home_

The light from the fire dances over her skin, highlighting every dip and curve of her newly altered body. She is so beautiful as she lies there, waiting for him to join her in their bed, the covers pulled back, covering her belly - he can tell she is insecure about it, worried even, though there is no need: he's never seen her as beautiful as she is now: her breasts full and heavy, her face slightly less angular, her skin healthy and glowing. Her belly is a reminder of their love, the fact that between them they have created magic, something he had never thought possible before he met her.

She has given him all a man could want: love, affection, respect and all of it without losing herself. She is as independent, as witty, practical and strong-minded as she ever was. She has not changed in all the time he has known her, though their circumstances have. Their courtship - not the demure, shy kind you read about in novels, but a sensible time filled with plans and hopes that they are now trying to make reality. They have been married a year and soon they will be a family.

The thought fills him with joy and a happiness he has seldom experienced.

"Are you not coming to bed?" She asks, biting her lip in that way she has that never fails to make him want to kiss her.

"I've been waiting…" She adds and subtly shifts so he gets a wonderful view of her.

"Can't have that…" He manages to say, love and lust coursing through his veins. He pulls off his tails, his waistcoat, kicks off his shoes. He peels off his shirt and his trousers, quickly gets rid of his socks and finally he takes off his vest and slides under the sheets next to her.

She is warm and soft, her skin against his makes him tingle. He kisses her, tenderly first, but she is not having it. She pulls him flush against her - he feels her bump press against his lower belly - and ravishes his mouth, her hips already rocking slightly against his and he comes to life between them, his hands finding the roundness of her breasts, flicking her nipples to attention whilst their kiss becomes a dance, a duel and he has to have her closer.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she embraces him. "Happy anniversary…" She whispers in his ear. The soft wisps of air send shivers down his spine.

"God woman… what you do to me…" He mumbles against her collarbone, kissing and nipping his way to her breast. She presses herself against him when he softly sucks on her nipple and allows his hand to travel further down. He gently nudges her legs apart and she moans deeply when he slides the pad of his middle finger over the soft nub at the top of her folds. She is slippery, she has been so receptive since… Well, he cannot think of that now, he cannot think she is carrying his child, he needs her to be his wife right now, to be the object of his affection and his desire: they are celebrating who they are together, not what they will be soon.

She has manoeuvred to her knees, her head thrown back as he touches her deliberately. She pants, holding on to him, allowing one hand to run through his chest hair, but she seems unable to do much more, caught in pleasure. He kisses the long column of her throat, her shoulder and pulls away his hand from her center. She whimpers, even pouts. She lets him push her back against the mattress and lets her legs fall open, ready to welcome him into her warmth.

He realises that every time she allows him to take her, it feels safe and he feels loved and happy and it's Elsie who makes him feels this way. To finally feel like he_ belongs_. But he's not quite ready to come home to her. He wants to touch her first, to run his hands over her calves and the underside of her knees, to stroke the impossibly soft skin of her inner thighs, the creases where her legs meet her body. He wants to lay his hands over her hipbones - though they are starting to become hidden, obscured from sight by his child, to softly press the sides of his thumbs over her sides towards her breasts (he cannot get enough of her breasts - they have never been so perfect) and he wants to kiss every inch of her.

She is impatient, she lays her hands around his arms, trying to get close, kissing him where she can, curling her legs around his, pulling him into her heat and he cannot deny her - he can never deny her anything - and he plunges in, the pair of them crying out in unison. He thinks he can hear her whisper 'finally', but he is too wrapped up in the sensations to take much notice. He looks at her, pinned under him, a happy smile on her lips, her eyes bright, glinting in the dim light of the glowing embers. They have been taking their time, it appears, but he has lost all sense of time, of place. All he knows he has to be with her.

Forever.

* * *

**A/N:** So here's the thing: I cannot write smutty drabbles. I need many words to convey what is going on. But it's less than a thousand at least? And they are not quite done yet…

Of course reviews are terribly appreciate it, please don't hesitate to comment. It's really lovely to get in contact with people who read fanfiction: it's what makes this more than just a bunch of people writing stories.  
It's what makes us a community.


	11. absolution

Elsie turns over one last time. 'Five more minutes' she thinks. She puts her hand against the wall. Behind this wall is her future husband, probably nervously shaving himself.

She is four hours away of becoming his wife. Her dress is hanging from the empty wardrobe - it's new, frivolous - her valise is packed. She blushes when she thinks of how she has spent a whole year embroidering their initials on sheets and pillowcases. Her blush deepens when she thinks of how people will know she will be lying between these sheets with Charles.

This very evening.

This will be the first time without the voice of her mother in her ear, condemning her. Without any guilt towards her girls ringing loud and clear (decades of hypocrisy will be wiped out by a few sentences; half an hour before the eyes of God and the face of the congregation will do the trick).

She hears him on the other side of the wall.

Four hours until walls between them will be a thing of the past.

She stretches and sits up. She had best get dressed.

She doesn't want to make him wait.

* * *

**A/N:** Under 200 words. A stark contrast with yesterday's drabble! Reviews very much appreciated.


	12. check mate

The chasm between her work persona and her actual self is so large by now, she feels like she is a player in a particularly repetitive game. She besieges the house every single day, dusts and disorders her enemy. She is general of this warland and she wins every battle.

But when the night falls and they are alone, he lovingly conquers her and she is pinned under him, panting, writhing. She has to keep the firmest of grips on herself not to beg him to fill her belly with his child.

She is 36 and she has been housekeeper for a little over year. She has been his mistress for exactly that time. She loves him. A quaint, unwanted feeling she has no need for.  
She needs a child even less.  
She will not allow for him to ruin her. She is an independent woman. She only has to please herself at the end of the day - or allow him to do it for her (and she does, often).

His hand is on her breast, his lips against her collarbone, his hips between her thighs: this is where she forgets. This is where she is not a housekeeper or a daughter, a friend. Here she is his and she arches against him, crying without making a sound, her face turned towards him; vulnerable. Here she knows all the dreams she has given up, all the hopes she has buried.

She doesn't want him to dig them up, but she allows it nonetheless. She is his prisoner of war and perhaps he is hers. There is no way back, nor one forward. This is where she surrenders to him and he gives himself up to her. They are King and Queen in this on-going competition and they rule their parts separately, but face their battle together, holding on tight.

Towards victory.

* * *

**A/N:** This is my favourite in the bunch I think. I have worked on it for almost a week and I am so pleased to be posting it just before the weekend. Reviews and commentary are very much appreciated.


	13. hardest thing of all

One year has been unaccounted for. A hole in her resume. None of her employer ever doubted her when she told them she had been caring for her ailing mother. Her dying mother if she needed to emphasize. She often thinks of that year, a year that was filled with hardship, sadness and worry and one she wants to forget but cannot. Not when there always seems to be something to remind her.

Ethel getting carried away by an officer (Elsie knows officers are seldom gentlemen, oh how she knows) and trying to bring up her child alone, being destined to a life of ruin until she decided to give up her child. Elsie had stood there watching Ethel and little Charlie (such a bonnie wee lad, sturdy legs and chubby cheeks and a little voice full of wonder) and her heart had broken all over again. Shattered. She had contradicted Mrs Crawley, had said too much to Ethel: 'You've done a hard thing, the hardest thing of all."

She is thankful nobody ever asked her about it again.

Now Lady Edith's secret has come out and the girl stood strong, her head held high, proud even and Elsie wishes she had had the strength, the means to have done the same. But her child is forever lost to her and all she can do is hope it's had a good life with loving parents who had chosen her child to be theirs.

Of course she knows better. She is highly aware she lies to herself. Orphanages are dreary places, devoid of love and chances.

She lies awake at night, her only confidantes asleep - not that she could confide in them. She will condemn her and he will never look at her again.

This secret she will take to her grave.

* * *

**A/N:** I keep on coming back to this scene - how does Elsie know Ethel giving up Charlie is the 'hardest thing of all'? The logical answer is that Elsie Hughes is an empathic person, another answer might be along these lines. Reviews, commentary and debate highly encouraged!


	14. happiness

**A/N: **300 exactly. The Carsons' universe

* * *

One year was all it took to go from two people to becoming almost three, but as she lays here under him, his strong arms on either side of her shoulders, she doesn't mind much. She had wanted more time to be just the two of them, to be carefree for a little while longer, but she has made her peace with the hand life had dealt them. She bucks her hips in time with his, her bump is starting to get in the way of their usual ways of making love. She had worried about this but Charles had smiled at her roguishly, telling her they would find new ways to enjoy each other.

Looking back she can pinpoint how she ended up in her current condition. One of their first 'fights' - misunderstandings, discussions. She had been so frustrated with him and angry with him, it had taken a long time and a lot of talking before they made up. She doesn't remember what the fuss had been about, all she knows is that he had stealthily retrieved half a bottle of sherry and they had shared it between them.

She had felt warm and happy and so in love with him and she had given herself so easily. So completely. She had not told him to be careful, to pull out, to _think_. Her child had been conceived in happiness and love. Perhaps this little trip up has been the best thing that ever happened to her. She places her hand against his cheek. "Thank you…" she whispers.

"Thank you for making me so happy." And she buries her face in the crook of his neck as he caresses her, touches her and she holds her breath as she falls with him, deliciously, over the edge.


	15. leaving

He runs his hands over her sides, letting them slip under the skirts she holds up for him and she sinks against him, allowing him to touch her in between the pleats of her drawers, softly and urgently. She moans and lets her hand to wander down his chest, pulling his shirt from his trousers, rubbing him through thin cotton of his pants. His breathing is warm against her ear, his scent in her nose and she cannot imagine loving anyone more than she loves him right now, in this moment, nor wanting him so much. She yanks down his trousers, his pants, frees him and she pulls up her leg. He takes her, pushing her spine against the wall. He feels so good completing her. She wants him to pound against her, to leave marks to remember him by - a week worth of bruises and his thumb prints on her hips.

She doesn't want him to leave but she knows he must. Sometimes, when it is dark and she is lonely, she worries about him. She wishes to give all that's hers and take all that is his without holding back, without the painful restraint that is their every day. This hurried, almost painful loving is to remember him by and when he returns she hopes she will not have news for him that will ruin them, but she cannot be burdened with holding him back. She wants him to be free and to be whole and their love to be without fear - this one time before he goes.

The Season is a painful, gaping hole in her heart, every year, for weeks on end.

She lives a little the night before it starts.

It's all she has to hang on to.

* * *

**A/N:** I did it! A tiny bit smutty in 300 words!

This is the 15th entry in this collection of drabbles and I want to thank everyone for their support over the past few weeks: it's meant so much to me, you are all amazing. This entry is the last in a while. I am not changing the status to 'complete' yet, but it will be going on_ hiatus_. So please send me your thoughts on this little drabble and I hope to present you with a brand spanking new AU chapter fic after the weekend.

Love you all!


	16. welcome

**A/N:** This drabble follows #15 directly and I am giving you two options. Tell me which one you liked best!

* * *

He always leaves one day before the family to get the house back in order. He never tells them there is nothing for him to do but direct the trunks and cases to their respective bedrooms for the Valet, Lady's Maid and Housemaids to unpack. Elsie Hughes has everything under control.

Including his mind. His every dream and some of his waking thoughts. She has captured his heart years ago. Sending him home early means one extra day with her, celebrating his return.

The tracks soothe his nerves through their rhythm, the wind in the trees on his walk to Downton sing to him. He opens the door to the Servants' Entrance and she is there,

1.

… looking as stunning as always, her hair that bit looser now she only has to command her maids, her dress less severe. She turns and sees him, smiles, checks the hall before breaking into a run. He catches her, kisses her soundly.

"Welcome home." She says, cupping his cheek.

2.

… the dark circles under her eyes give her away before he gets the chance to observe her further. She walks towards him, falls into his arms and he can feel it. The almost undiscernable bulge that wasn't there before.

"I'm sorry…" She whispers, tears hot on his cheek. He doesn't respond, only holds her.


	17. fork in the road

**A/N:** choice 1 and 2 (because I am a nice person - pick and choose wisely, from now on you'll be getting only one!)

* * *

1. They sit together, the wine warming them, their conversation sparkling, unhindered by either's sense of propriety. The junior servants have all gone up, Mrs Patmore retired early, complaining of a headache. He tells her about the Season, the balls that were attended and the 'at homes' that were held.

He doesn't say he has missed her and she doesn't return the sentiment. They know. It's there in the kiss on the sly in the courtyard and it's here in the room now, hovering between them, neither of them wanting to grasp it, make it 'real'.

They are perfect this way.

* * *

2. They sit together, going over their shared savings, the rent they'd be able to afford. A newspaper lays open at the 'wanted' section. They have circled positions that may be suitable for him. They are worried. He has experience as a Butler, is arguably one of the best in the land, but that will not do them much good now. Perhaps in London they hire married staff, but not anywhere near here.

They have to decide if they want to remain in Yorkshire, if they'll go to Scotland or elsewhere. She keeps telling him she is sorry, he keeps telling her it's not her fault and they sit in quiet misery while he drinks his wine and she sips her tea.

Wine no longer agrees with her.

* * *

**A/N2: **RESULTS CH 17 BASED ON 16 REVIEWS

1. (happy) 4

2. (angsty) 8

3. (undecided) 4


	18. what to do

**A/N:** Here are the results (based on 20 reviews - I am rather overwhelmed and blushing fiercely)!

choice 1 (happy) : 6

choice 2 (angst) : 6

undecided: 3

angst + happy ending : 4

undec + happy ending : 1

So I am afraid it's going to be angst (but if you've been following me for a bit, I think you know it won't be that bad. Probably.) but happy endings are very much wanted. Well. We'll see what I can do. Chapters will probably flesh out as we make our ways to/through the plot.

Please don't forget to make your choice and put them in your review!

* * *

1. Days go by. The family has returned to their usual routines of receiving visitors and visiting, of checking home farm and taking tea. Elsie goes about her work, trains her maids, tries to single out a girl who could take over if she is forced to leave. When. When she is forced to leave, not if. Charles had written a dozen cover letters. A family in Manchester is looking for a butler and doesn't object if he is married.

He has not asked her yet and she isn't sure he will. She'll wear a ring anyway and she'll go about keeping house, making the most of his earnings and their savings. She'll get used to being called Mrs Carson and she'll bring this child into the world. This child who came through their carelessness, their foolishness. She places her hands on her bump, hidden by her corset.

* * *

2. A week passes, then two. They speak about leaving Downton, their hearts heavy. They don't want to leave, Downton is their home. They discuss perhaps telling Lord Grantham of their predicament instead of Charles resigning and asking for a reference, a good character. He'd leave and Elsie would simply join him. She has a note already written to place on her desk and a list of tasks and duties. She has made rosters for the whole month.

They've slept in the same bed since he's come home, his presence a constant comfort. She is worried for him more than for herself. She will gain something she never thought she'd have, but he will lose everything he has ever worked for. Their goodbye before the Season demolishing his life's work.


End file.
